Legs dangling over the steps, James' heels kick against the wood. It's a regular motion, one that's more the result of habit than anything else, from long days spent on his grandmother's porch. In his mind, James knows that h needs to cut those off too, in time. He doesn't live that life anymore. He's not sure if he can even pretend to, doesn't know if he wants to live with his grandparents at all. There are times when he has no greater impulse than the one to run away, to just become another person entirely, but the world is a large and frightening place to a boy of eight. He's not sure he has it in him to run just yet.

Eventually, he has to. He needs to find Mr. Sawyer.

The voice that sounds by his ear makes James jump, staring over with widened eyes before he calms down. He may be nothing more than a boy, but James thinks that sometimes it's kids like him who can understand people best. This lady is one of the adults who really seems to care. Some pretend to, some give James plenty of hugs and long speeches that he never really understands, but this lady, something tells him that she means it. Still, there's no point in bringing anyone else into this. No point when he doesn't get comfort from talking about it at all.

So he nods, turning back to his pad and setting down the pen politely, wondering if she'll leave soon.